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Happy Thanksgiving All

100 Reasons I Have to be Thankful

My new great-granddaughter, Savannah Kay.

My new great-granddaughter, Savannah Kay.

“Be grateful for what you have and stop complaining – it bores everybody else, does you no good, and doesn’t solve any problems.” Zig Ziglar

In no particular order, I’m thankful:

  1. I survived the year in good health, and still with an adventurous spirit.
  2. My new great-granddaughter, Savannah Kay.
  3. That nearly 40 years ago I stopped believing I had to be perfect, because I’m surely not.
  4. New friends I’ve made this year. and the old friends who have managed to hang with me. Friends are one of the greatest gifts of life.
  5. Pink and lavender sunrises and orange and gold sunsets (and all the other colored ones) that enrich my days.

    Tucson sunset from my front balcony. -- Photo by Pat Bean

    Tucson sunset from my front balcony. — Photo by Pat Bean

  6. Pepper, my canine companion, who will turn three on December 1.
  7. I’m doing drawing and water coloring again after a 10-year absence – and grateful I don’t think my art has to be perfect.
  8. Authors who write the books I love to read.
  9. I can afford to pay for adequate health insurance when so many can’t.
  10. Mother Nature’s many wonders, which help keep me sane in today’s chaotic world.
  11. My role as matriarch of a family that includes five children, 15 grandchildren and three great-grandchildren, and of course thankful for them as well.
  12. I live in a country where a lone female, like me, can travel across this country alone without a male escort or fear of being stoned.
  13. Story Circle Network, a supportive group of female writing colleagues who daily enrich this writer’s life.
  14. My small, third-floor walkup apartment that sits in the shadow of the Catalina Mountains.

    The Catalina Mountains from my bedroom balcony. -- Photo by Pat Bean

    The Catalina Mountains from my bedroom balcony. — Photo by Pat Bean

  15. The hummingbirds, verdins and finches that almost daily empty my feeders, and for all the other magical birds that flit around my life.
  16. Beautiful blank journals for me to fill.
  17. Learning something new, hopefully every day.
  18. My new car, Cayenne.
  19. The music of rain and thunderstorms, and the rainbows that follow.
  20. Spell check, even if it’s imperfect, too.
  21. Soft pajamas and fleece blankets to snuggle in.
  22. Tie-Dye T-shirts to feed the flower child in me.
  23. Caring people.
  24. The Internet that almost always has an answer to my many questions, and which keep me connected to family, friends and writing colleagues.
  25. A hot bath in a comfortable tub, the one thing I missed during my RV-ing days.
  26. Mornings, with a cup of bold, cream laced coffee and a too-full list of things I want to do.
  27. Tucson’s desert flowers, especially the blooming red bird of paradise bush.
  28. Moisturizing cream.
  29. Manicures and pedicures, when I can afford them.
  30. Smiles and laughter.
  31. Pleasant surprises.
  32. A stiff Jack and Coke with a friend and good conversation.
  33. Maples, redwoods, live oaks and all other trees that reach to the sky while remaining rooted to the earth. Yup, you guessed it. I’m a tree-hugger.

    Autumn in Ramsey Canyon. -- Photo by Pat Bean

    Autumn in Ramsey Canyon. — Photo by Pat Bean

  34. That I overcame my childhood angst and came to love my mother so much that I still miss her.
  35. Being a writer, because it’s through the written word that I get to experience the world twice, and also learn what I really think about it.
  36. Hugs.
  37. The Colorado, Snake, Green and Salmon rivers for all the thrills they gave me during my white-water rafting days, and all the river rats who shared the daytime excitement and the nighttime campfires and tall tales.
  38. Good chocolate .
  39. Scenic byways and back roads.
  40. A great pen, (Uniball Vision Elite, bold black).
  41. Massages.
  42. Hiking trails, easy ones these days.
  43. My almost daily e-mail from a daughter-in-law, and weekly calls from my children.

    I'm thankful for hiking trails that lead me into the midst of Mother Nature's wonders. -- Photo by Pat Bean

    I’m thankful for hiking trails that lead me into the midst of Mother Nature’s wonders. — Photo by Pat Bean

  44. My monthly Social Security check.
  45. My digital camera and my old-fashioned cell phone.
  46. Audible books that let me listen far into the night and still rest my tired eyes and be comfortable.
  47. A virus and malware-free computer.
  48. Kind people.
  49. WordPress for hosting this blog.
  50. Comfortable shoes and clean white sox
  51. The wolf tattoo that I was brave enough to get on my 75th birthday this year – and for the wolves return to Yellowstone.
  52. For art and music that touches my soul, and their creators.
  53. That despite evidence to the contrary, I still believe peace might someday be the norm on this planet we share with a multitude of cultures and religions.
  54. For the aurora borealis, which I still hope one day to see.
  55. For my writing desk that looks out onto trees and a red-tiled roof visited often by ravens.
  56. A sky full of stars.
  57. My Kindle.
  58. Scented candles.
  59. My curiosity, which hopefully I’ll never lose.
  60. Clean kitchen drawers, which reminds me of something that should go on my to-do list for next week.
  61. Waterfalls and lake reflections.
  62. New experiences.
  63. A long snail mail from a friend.

    purple mountain

    Purple mountain majesty. — Photo by Pat Bean

  64. National and state parks.
  65. Board games with competitive people.
  66. My small crockpot.
  67. Electricity, hot water, heaters and air conditioners.
  68. My African safari, and other travels, that live on in my little gray cells.
  69. Glasses that let these old eyes continue to read.
  70. Stained glass windows.
  71. The nighttime howls of coyotes, as long as they don’t eat my Pepper in the daytime.
  72. Libraries and bookstores.
  73. Good movies, like “The Lord of the Rings” trilogy.
  74. Christmas Trees.
  75. A good haircut.
  76. Live theater.
  77. A gift of flowers.
  78. The pair of Cooper hawks that I saw grow from egg, to chick, to free flying this past year. They were raised in a tall tree I could see from my living room balcony.
  79. The color red.
  80. Butterflies.

    I'm thankful for butterflies and flowers. -- Photo by Pat Bean

    I’m thankful for butterflies and flowers. — Photo by Pat Bean

  81. Agatha Christie mysteries. I’m currently reading all of the Hercule Poirot books in order and am once again enchanted by her masterful writing.
  82. Wildlife and nature sanctuaries, like Ramsey Canyon that I recently visited.
  83. Texas bluebonnets, which I saw in April, and the always colorful front garden flowers here at my apartment complex. .
  84. My armchair travels of the world.
  85. Thanksgiving dinner with family.
  86. Dragons and castles in a cloudy sky.
  87. Good ice cream. Blue Bell in Texas and Blue Bunny here in Tucson.
  88. Helen Reddy singing “I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar.”
  89. My wrinkles, because I earned them.
  90. America’s purple mountain majesties and fields of amber grain.

    ge3

    I’m thankful for my curiosity, and for this planet’s nearly 10,000 bird species.

  91. Shade on a sunny day.
  92. My trip to the zoo this week with a three-year-old great-grandson.
  93. Cheesecake.
  94. For completing the fourth rewrite of my book, “Travels with Maggie,” hopefully leaving only a fifth proofreading task ahead.
  95. The strong women who came before me.
  96. The overhead honking of Canada geese.
  97. A comfortable bed.
  98. The scent of gardenia, which always makes me think of my grandmother.
  99. Wind chimes.
  100. And all my blog followers.

 

Ramsey Canyon

fall leaves

Autumn in Ramsey Canyon. — Photo by Pat Bean

 

  “I remember a hundred lovely lakes, and recall the fragrant breath of pine and fir and cedar and poplar trees. The trail has strung upon it, as upon a thread of silk, opalescent dawns and saffron sunsets. It has given me blessed release from care and worry and the troubled thinking of our modern day. It has been a return to the primitive and the peaceful. Whenever the pressure of our complex city life thins my blood and benumbs my brain, I seek relief in the trail; and when I hear the coyote wailing to the yellow dawn, my cares fall from me — I am happy.” — Hamlin Garland, McClure’s, February 1899

Point of Interest for a Non-Wandering Wanderer           

Miniature waterfalls were around every bend. -- Photo by Pat Bean

Miniature waterfalls were around every bend. — Photo by Pat Bean

  Ramsey Canyon, south of Tucson, is one of North America’s hottest birding spots – but not in November. In November, it is just a delightful place for a hike and a delicious feast for the eyes.

My son Lewis and I got to the  Nature Conservancy visitor center early, and paid our $6 to gain access to the canyon. The first two amazing things I noticed different from the usual Sonoran Desert landscape was water in the form of a spring-fed stream bubbling down the canyon — and trees, lots of tall, stately giants, and broad-branched monarchs that made me want to clamber up into their arms.

My son Lewis near the start of the trail. -- Photo by Pat Bean

My son Lewis near the start of the trail. — Photo by Pat Bean

Lewis said it was the trees, which Tucson lacked, that kept me oohing and ahhing almost continually.

But we have trees in Tucson, I said.

“Not like these, or this many,” he replied

He was right. While my apartment complex does have a few, out-of-habitat and bedraggled evergreens, and a few black olive trees, most of the ones I see around Tucson are short mesquites and leafless, green-trunked palo verdes. .

Growing tall and regal between Ramsey’s Canyon walls were maples and sycamores. The towering and mottled-white limbs of the sycamores were enchanting, as were the autumn leaves of the maple trees, sights I don’t normally see in Tucson proper.

Located in the Huachuca Mountains, the canyon is renowned for its scenic beauty, its diversity of plants, and the birds that visit it in the spring and summer. The one other time I visited it, about eight years ago on an April day, I went for the birds – and was not disappointed. While I only saw a few birds this trip, I was still not disappointed.

Painted redstart.

Painted redstart.

The Ramsey Canyon hike is only a mile up and back, although hikers can add some length to the trail by continuing on to the top of a ridge, which Lewis did. I chose to hike back down canyon slowly, taking time to breathe in Mother Nature’s beauty and to take some photographs.

As I crossed a bridge near a splash and play area, I was rewarded with the sight of a pair of painted redstarts. I felt that Lewis, also an avid birder, would be put out that he hadn’t seen them. Thankfully the bird wouldn’t be a lifer for him. And when I told him about the redstart, he was too happy he had seen an Arizona woodpecker, which was a lifer, to envy my sighting.

Blog pick of the day.

Blog pick of the day.

Bean Pat A Window into the Woods http://tinyurl.com/k2wrq5a Now that my son, Lewis, is back home in Texas, these are birds he can see every day.

Tombstone

Downtown Tombstone -- Photo by Pat Bean

Downtown Tombstone — Photo by Pat Bean

“…writers inevitably notice similar things from slightly different angles. How could it be otherwise.” – Frank Conroy

With My Son

My son, Lewis, in Boot Hill  -- Photo by Pat Bean

My son, Lewis, in Boot Hill — Photo by Pat Bean

            I’ve been to Tombstone, Arizona, which sits 75 miles southeast of my Tucson apartment three times. I barely remember the first, which I think was sometime in the early 70s. The second time was about 10 years ago during my full-time RV travels. The third time was just last Monday with my middle child, Lewis, who came to check up on his mom and have, as he called it, “his midlife road trip.”

My son taking a picture of a spoon player, who takes advantage of the Tombstone crowd to earn a few bucks. Lewis texted the photo to his wife, who replied: "I thought you were in Tombstone and not New Orleans. -- Photo by Pat Bean

My son taking a picture of a spoon player, who takes advantage of the Tombstone crowd to earn a few bucks. Lewis texted the photo to his wife, who replied: “I thought you were in Tombstone and not New Orleans. — Photo by Pat Bean

At least that’s what he called it when he showed up at my Tucson apartment, driving a brand new Jeep Wrangler and wearing a scruffy beard and long hair. I laughed when I saw him, and again after hearing that his wife told him the hair had to go when he got back home.

Lewis is an avid birdwatcher like his mom, from whom he caught the addiction. And Tucson is a great birding place – April through September. Sadly, the birding is dismal in November. So I looked for other options to entertain Lewis, and together we decided a visit to Tombstone might be fun.

Lewis said his wife, Karen, “had a thing about Wyatt Earp.”

It was a beautiful day, and with Lewis’s Jeep open to the air and sky, it was an adventurous, if windy ride. I thoroughly enjoyed it. As I did our exploration of Tombstone, which had evolved into a more touristy place since my last visit — when I watched a free re-enactment of the “Gunfight at the O.K. Corral.”

I'm not sure what the Texas longhorn was doing in Arizona, either. -- Photo by Pat Bean

I’m not sure what the Texas longhorn was doing in Arizona, either. — Photo by Pat Bean

Today, the re-enactment is performed inside a fenced-off area with stadium seating for the audience. Tickets to the show, which also include a reprinted copy of the Epitaph newspaper the day after the shooting, and entrance to a movie and diorama history presentation about the history of the old silver mining town, are now $10 per person.

Just about everything else, from stage coach rides to visits to old brothels, museums and haunted buildings, some of which were also free last time I visited, now come with a sticker price.

While my Lewis' wife has a thing about Wyatt Earp, my other daughter-in-law and I share a fondness for John Wayne, especially his performance in Hatari. It's one of our favorite movies. -- Photo by Pat Bean

While my Lewis’ wife has a thing about Wyatt Earp, my other daughter-in-law and I share a fondness for John Wayne, especially his performance in Hatari. It’s one of our favorite movies. — Photo by Pat Bean

I treated for the shoot-out, but we bypassed most of the other attractions. We did, however, take a walk through boot hill, which is now well tended and organized, unlike how I remembered it from my last visit. Then, if I remember correctly, it was just an old graveyard with a few interesting headstones, my favorite being “Here lies Les Moore. Four slugs from a 44. No Les, no Moore. I couldn’t find that particular tombstone this time, however.

Tombstone, whose history is truly fascinating, is “more” today than it was on my earlier visit. Of course it was probably “more” when the town was booming than it is today.

The best thing about Tombstone this day was that I got to spend it with a son whom I seldom see, and he also enjoyed the day (and bought a Wyatt Earp T-shirt for his wife).

We ended the day’s adventure wiith a  prime rib dinner (he treated)  at a steakhouse in the tiny town of Sonorita, which we drove through on the scenic, backroad drive back to Tucson.

Blog pick of the day.

Blog pick of the day.

Bean Pat: Redtails over Sweetwater http://tinyurl.com/lytvas2 An artist’s blog, and a painting I love.

 

The Color Blue

Blue morning glories. -- Art by Pat Bean

Blue morning glories. — Art by Pat Bean

“Sun-bleached bones were most wonderful against the blue – that blue that will always be there as it is now after all man’s destruction is finished.” – Georgia O’Keeffe

A Color of Many Hues – and Meanings

If you were to describe the color blue, you could call it azure, robin’s egg, cerulean, cobalt, beryl, slate, indigo, baby, cyan, sky, royal, midnight, navy, lapis lazuli, sapphire, Prussian, steel or sky. Can you think of any more?

Pelvis and blue sky by Georgia O'Keeffe

Pelvis and blue sky by Georgia O’Keeffe

If you want to describe someone who is down in the dumps, you could say they are feeling blue.

If something surprises you, it might have come from out of the blue.

If you’re loyal, you might be called true blue. Or if you’re royal, you’re a blueblood and probably listed in the Bluebook. .

But if you cuss, your language is what’s blue.

Blue is the color of ribbons given to first place winners, and a Blue Book will tell you the value of your old car.      So why not just sing the blues.

Does any of this matter if you just happen to like the color blue?          

Blog pick of the day.

Blog pick of the day.

  Bean Pat: My beautiful things http://tinyurl.com/nwdygpc The ordinary things of everyday life can be beautiful. This blog reminded me to simply enjoy the moment and hope for peace.

Pampering Myself

“If you can’t love yourself, how in the hell are you going to love anyone else?” RuPaul

Pancakes with sour cream and strawberries for a cool morning breakfast, topped off of course with a cup of dark, cream-laced coffee. -- Photo by Pat Bean

Pancakes with sour cream and strawberries for a cool morning breakfast, topped off of course with a cup of dark, cream-laced coffee. — Photo by Pat Bean

Hot Bath and Pancakes

It was cool, sweater weather this morning. So after I took Pepper for her morning walk, welcomed Dusty for her day’s stay while her mom worked, and fed and tidied up after the four cats I’m looking after twice a day while their mom’s gone for the week, I decided it was Me Time..

Still a little chilled, I soaked in a hot bath with a book until the water cooled, and then fixed myself pancakes topped with sour cream and strawberries. I used to fix this for dinner sometimes when my kids were young.

Life is good. I think that’s what the two dogs thought, too. After they had their morning romp through my apartment they curled up and became couch potatoes.

Two couch potatoes. -- Photo by Pat Bean

Two couch potatoes. They had their eyes closed until they heard the click of the camera.  — Photo by Pat Bean

Bean Pat: Nature Has No Boss http://tinyurl.com/kgtn33s An oystercatcher’s breakfast.

Sunday Art

This singer is a common yellowthroat that I usually come across in marshy areas near water, which hums its own melodies as it swishes against a bank or over rocks. -- Art by Pat Bean

This singer is a common yellowthroat that I usually come across in marshy areas near water, which hums its own melodies as it swishes against a bank or over rocks. — Art by Pat Bean

And a Song

“Every great dream begins with a dreamer. Always remember, you have within you the strength, the patience, and the passion to reach for the stars to change the world.”  — Harriet Tubman

And a Song   

            Bean Pat: http://tinyurl.com/p9rzz9g I came across this blog this morning and found myself transplanted back in time by words that ring even truer to me today. I marveled at younger faces of singers whose music continues to be sung. How many of them can you recognize?

 

If only she smelled as good as she looked. -- Photo by Pat Bean

If only she smelled as good as she looked. — Photo by Pat Bean

“Anybody who doesn’t know what soap tastes like never washed a dog.” ~Franklin P. Jones

Equals Two Smelly Dogs

            Early this morning, from outside my balcony, I heard a familiar whistle. My friend, Jean, was walking her dog, Dusty. Her crisp whistle said: “Come out and play.”

And Dusty didn't smell any better. -- Photo by Pat Bean

And Dusty didn’t smell any better. — Photo by Pat Bean

Pepper had started dancing around even before I heard the whistle. Her keen sense of smell had already alerted her to the fact that her best friend was outside. She was excited and begged for us to go out and join in the fun.

What Pepper wants, Pepper usually gets.

And so it was that Jean and I sat talking at a picnic table, while our two dogs romped around in the grass. Then suddenly a tantalizing scent caught the dogs’ attention. . Before we two humans could react, the two canines were rolling their bodies around and around and around on a specific spot in the grass. .

When we hollered at them to stop, they both came running, jumped up on the table, and with grinning faces tried to give us kisses.

Jean and I quickly recoiled. Yuck! Both dogs smelled like poop

Our next order of business, regardless of other plans for the day, was doggie baths.

Blog pick of the day.

Blog pick of the day.

Bean Pat: Fall Hike http://tinyurl.com/mw2pjly Take a short Colorado hike with Andy.

Thursday Art

Capturing a moment in time. --  By Pat Bean

Capturing a moment in time. — By Pat Bean

“I cannot keep the look of youth, but how October maples flame. Age takes our beauty, gives us truth. Age takes our wits, and makes us wise. Age gives us life’s October skies, and old October’s mellower days, a better time a thousand ways.” – Douglas Malloch

Bean Pat: Canoe Communications http://tinyurl.com/m2zdmpk  It’s seems only fair that I promote this excellent blog, seeing as how I stole the quote his blog this morning because I loved it so much.

Mornings

            “It is in the early morning hour that the unseen is seen, and that the far-off beauty and glory, vanquishing all their vagueness, move down upon us till they stand clear as crystal close over against the soul.” ~Sarah Smiley

I find mornings magical, a gift to me from Mother Nature. -- Photo by Pat Bean

I find mornings magical, a gift to me from Mother Nature. — Photo by Pat Bean

The Peaceful Time

I filled my nectar feeder this morning for the first time in weeks, having stopped the ritual because of summer bee season here at my apartment complex.

Verdins feed more at my nectar feeder than hummingbirds. I love watching them. -- Photo by Pat Bean

Verdins feed more at my nectar feeder than hummingbirds. I love watching them. — Photo by Pat Bean

As I sat in my living room chair, staring out at it through the open balcony door, a black-chinned hummingbird, perhaps the same one that has been regularly checking the empty feeder, stopped by for breakfast. It was soon joined by a verdin, a tiny bird that is as common as hummingbirds at my feeder.

While hummingbirds usually chase off their own species wanting to feed at the same time, these two peacefully shared the wealth. I wondered why I had taken so long to start filling the feeder again.

And then I drank in my favorite time of day. Too often it’s the only time of day my chaotic brain ceases to race through life. The desert morning was cool and still, making me feel as if I were the only human up and moving around at this moment  in time – just seconds before the sun would bring reality to a world full of good and evil, and beauty and ugliness. The air was tinged with magic, and my soul filled with peace as I gratefully accepted Mother Nature’s gift.

Blog pick of the day.

Blog pick of the day.

Bean Pat: The rest of the story http://tinyurl.com/lkx3jz9  I guess Ruth never heard about Paul Harvey. By the way, I’m laughing with this blogger because I’ve been in her position. Sometimes what we think is interesting, readers find less so.

Woman of the Mountain http://tinyurl.com/kpuqh4w A  Blue Ridge Parkway hero.  

            .

A Splash from the Past

“Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air.”  — Ralph Waldo Emerson

I was 43 years old when I experienced my first white water adventure. Within the next week, I had bought my own raft, and for the next 20 years running rapids was my passion. The river taught me much about myself.

I was 43 years old when I experienced my first white water adventure. Within the next week, I had bought my own raft, and for the next 20 years running rapids was my passion. The river taught me much about myself.

A Long Swim

Being a writer and journal keeper, the artifacts of my life are found in words, like those that popped up yesterday when I was going through a box of photographs. Among the pictures was a faded proof of a story I wrote as a personal newspaper column back in 1988.

Who knows what is going to pop up when you're going through artifacts of your life? == Photo by Pat Bean

Who knows what is going to pop up when you’re going through artifacts of your life? == Photo by Pat Bean

While the story is about an incident that will forever be hazily embedded in my brain, the words I had written, when the details were fresh and new, brought back the memory in vivid, living color. I just love being a writer.

Here’s what I wrote over a quarter of a century ago – with a bit of judicious editing because I’m a better writer, if not a better rafter, these days.

            PIECE-OF-CAKE RAPID, SALMON, RIVER, IDAHO – I knew before it happened that it was going to happen. I was going swimming. Now don’t get me wrong. I enjoy swimming. But I didn’t have the slightest yen to take a dip in a fast-flowing, bubbling, chilly rapid.

            The last piece of advice given me by White Otter River guide, Randy Hess, as I stepped for the very first time into a one-person, inflatable kayak, was “Just keep it straight. These babies are steady and designed so they slice nicely through the water.”

            Somehow he forgot to say: “But don’t let the kayak get turned broadside to the rapid or it will flip.”

            Actually I already knew that. I had even been down this stretch of the Salmon River before, only in a large paddle raft with six people to keep the rubber boat pointed downstream.          

An eagle on shore spotted during one of my annual floats down the Snake River below Jackson Wyoming. -- Photo by Pat Bean

An eagle on shore spotted during one of my annual floats down the Snake River below Jackson Wyoming. — Photo by Pat Bean

   Today, however, I quickly realized that I didn’t have the hang of maneuvering my wobbly (Randy lied. It wasn’t steady) craft, or the skill to easily use the two-bladed paddle, which was also a first for me.

            I might have had a chance to overcome the learning curve if the first rapid, Piece-of-Cake, named I’m sure by some maniacal jokester, hadn’t been within sight of the launch point.

            “Stay to the left,” I heard Randy, who was nearby in his hard-body kayak, yell at me.

            I was able do that, but I didn’t have enough control to swing the raft around to meet the oncoming second wave – and so I flipped.

            “Sh-ee-it!” I uttered as I flew out of the boat just a couple of minutes after getting into it. As the water drowned my exclamation, I told myself to just go with the flow, and almost immediately I bounced off the river bottom and back up to where the air was less thick to breathe – until a mean wave reburied me beneath the water again.

            But finally I managed to get my life-jacketed, and thankfully wet-suited body above the waves, and then quickly pointed my feet downstream, so they, and not my head, would hit any rock obstacle in the way. This wasn’t my first time being dumped in fast-flowing water.

            The current, however, stramded me in a patch of tricky backwash.  Sh-ee-it! I managed to get my favorite “I’m-gonna-die” word out this time before another kayaker came up beside me.

            “Grab on,” she said. I didn’t have to be asked twice. But with my weight hanging on to her hard-shelled kayak, she couldn’t escape the backwash, and although my kayak was just on the other side of her, I couldn’t get to it.

            Finally the expert, Randy, comes in to save the day, maneuvering his kayak so I can grab hold of it. I breathe a sigh of relief, figuring I’m now in capable hands.   

            The feeling was short-lived. In a rare, slow-motion moment, Randy’s kayak flips When I realize I still have hold of the boat, and am hindering Randy’s attempts to roll up, I let go. The rapid immediately takes me to the middle of the river, shoving more water down my throat until the waves subsist and I’m floating in calm water. Exhausted now, I wait to be rescued.

            I ride in the group’s raft with the lunch supplies for a while, but then get back in that dang inflatable kayak and spend the rest of the day without mishap.

            The kayakers later congratulate me for dumping Randy, a “pretty sight” they say they had never seen before. An abashed Randy then gives me “The Salmon River Swimming Championship Award,”

            “I think the river,” he said, “was a bit high today.” And then he grins.  –30

A few years later, when the water wasn’t quite so high, I got back in another dang inflatable kayak and with a granddaughter by my side in a second inflatable kayak, stayed in the boat through Piece-of-Cake Rapid and the rest of the day’s float trip. No rewards for me this day, only a deeply felt satisfaction in my soul.          

Blog pick of the day.

Blog pick of the day.

  Bean Pat: A new mindset http://tinyurl.com/ovy7yh9 Ditto what this blogger wrote.